


Darkness Rising

by FuryInYourHead



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dark Magic, Elder Wand, Fluff and Angst, Hogwarts, Magic-Users, Meddling Wizard(s), Muggle/Wizard Relations, Post-Movie 1: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, Pre-Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Protective Newt, Wandless Magic, Wizarding World, Young Dumbledore, leta lestrange - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2018-04-17
Packaged: 2018-12-10 15:57:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11695026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FuryInYourHead/pseuds/FuryInYourHead
Summary: The year is 1930, Gellert Grindelwald has been captured and detained in the capable hands of MACUSA. Newt Scamander has continued his work to save all magical creatures in need and Porpentina Goldstein is now a Senior Auror at the Magical Congress of the United States of America. But when news hits that MACUSA has been all but destroyed and Grindelwald is at large, Newt is faced with his greatest challenge yet: saving the day once more. This time things are just that little bit darker and lives are at stake, the future of the wizarding world will be determined by the actions of the few.





	1. Magical Creatures and Where to Save Them

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! This is my second fanfic on AoOO, moving on from Sherlock my inspiration has exploded for Newt Scamander's adventures in the Wizarding World! I hope you all enjoy.
> 
> Fury xo

Newt Scamander supposed any old pub in any run down area of Ireland was as good a place as any to conduct an illicit and very illegal trade of a Thestral foal. The shoddily clad building on Slí Cheann Sléibhe in the small village of Dingle to a Muggle’s untrained eye would have looked quite picturesque; its bright green cladding almost blended into the rolling countryside and the old-style windows painted a pub that was quaint while its thatched roof oozed typical English countryside. To a Muggle the pub, called the Drunken Frog, would look closed for renovations. To a wizards eye it was easy to see the disillusionment charm that masked the truly run down nature of the pub: cracked windows were lit by candlelight (even in the Wizarding World Newt thought this was entirely unnecessary) and peeled paint revealed years of neglect at the hands of its proprietor. As Newt pushed open the door with the tip of his boot he wondered whether the owner paid more for the upkeep up the disillusion charm than for the actual upkeep of the pub. 

The inside of the pub wasn’t as bad as its outside might have suggested but it still took first place in comparison to some of the establishment’s found on Knockturn Alley, Newt reminded himself internally not to drink from any of the glasses without first making sure they’d been washed. The man Newt had arrived to meet was distinctive in that he was about three and a half feet tall and quite a stocky fellow, from what he recalled Gnarlak was still incredibly irritated with him for allowing the Muggle Jacob Kowalski to smack him in the face four years ago at The Blind Pig in New York. Newt spotted the Goblin easily enough hidden behind a few layers of prostitutes and smugglers. Gnarlak was in the company of three dancers who were perched precariously around him without any close contact. The wizard decided Gnarlak was probably still a little touchy about people being too close to him what with his last encounter with Newt ending in imprisonment and deportation from America back to England. Gnarlak seemed to sense Newt’s skulking in the background because his overly pronounced chin turned away from his conversation and towards the slender man and his suitcase standing by the door. A slick grin passed across Gnarlak’s face and the Goblin shifted his position so that he could see Newt entirely while still chewing on the end of his lit cigar.Newt felt suddenly hyper-aware of himself and shuffled on the spot, making sure his dicky-bow tie was sitting properly. His mother had always said impressions made a wizard, not the magic. Though how much right his mother had to say that when she was shovelling Hippogriff faeces was beyond him. The better left unthought about Hippogriff faeces the better. 

“Newton Artemis Fido Scamander,” announced Gnarlak loudly. The Goblin’s gruff voice was enough for the self-conscious Newt to note the quietening of other conversations and a hushing of the music. 

“Hello Gnarlak,” Newt muttered shuffling over to the table the Goblin had set up to use as his foot rest, “long time no see.”

Gnarlak repositioned his feet on the table so that Newt could sit opposite the gangster, he watched the wizard sit with hungry eyes, noting the young man’s decision to hold onto his suitcase.

“Being locked up’ll do that to you,” Gnarlak retorted sarcastically, his eyes never leaving Newt’s face. Newt’s mouth drew into a thin, pressed line — the kind of expression he pulled when he disliked the direction of the conversation. Gnarlak let out a sickly gust of cigar smoke into Newt’s face to which the wizard twitched uncomfortably, “it’s all right kid, I only hold grudges that are worth keeping…” 

Newt knew that Gnarlak wasn’t being charitable, the pardon from MACUSA four years ago had meant that Newt was no longer of any value for a gangster such as Gnarlak to trade in on and he had better chances of coming away from their encounter with anything worth a Galleon or two if he heard of Newt rather than allowing his basic Goblin instincts of anger to take over. That was what separated Gnarlak from his other family members — he knew when and where to hold a grudge. Today was not one of those days.

“So… the Thestral, where is it?” Newt asked trying his best to keep the worry out of his voice, he knew how Gnarlak treated his ‘acquisitions’. Gnarlak chewed on his cigar some more clearly pleased with the amount of control he held over Newt. 

“Close by. Did you bring what I asked for?” 

Newt pushed his hand into his pocket and pulled out what looked like a small ornate pocket mirror, the frame was hand painted gold and the glass was in perfect condition. Newt held the medium sized glass out on a silver link chain so that it dangled in between himself and Gnarlak. Gnarlak’s eyes snapped away from Newt’s face and to the dangling object in between them. He licked his lips greedily.

“Where did you get that?” He asked, moving his hand towards the hand glass. Newt was quicker though, he pulled away the object before Gnarlack had the chance to touch it. 

“I won it in a bet,” he mumbled evenly. 

“No one just gives up Foe Glass, Scamander.”

Newt shrugged nonchalantly trying his best to seem like owning an object such as a Foe Glass was just another day in the office. In fact the winning of the Foe Glass had been more to do with the sip of Felix Felicis Newt had managed to steal only ten minutes before the game of Wizard Chess had begun. But the trivialities of _how_ Newt had come by the Foe Glass didn’t matter when the life of a Thestral foal was at stake. 

“The foal?” Newt repeated. It seemed in all other things in life Newt was quite the shy character but when it came to the safety of his magical creatures (of any and all creatures, to be exact) Newt was confident and determined. Gnarlak chewed on his cigar again with the same sickly grin, he clicked his spare hand and one of the skimpily clad dancers disappeared into the backroom. Newt shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He valued all creatures greatly, surely they too deserved the same respect as any witch or wizard? For this reason he was at peace with himself to deal with lesser than nice characters such as Gnarlak, even if it gave him a less than spectacular reputation. The wizard looked around the room with wandering eyes; it had similarities to The Blind Pig in New York, posters of wanted wizards and witches lined the walls like a wall of fame, Newt doubted very much that the witches and wizards on the walls were even bothered with by the smugglers and gangsters of the Drunken Frog unless they had a bounty higher than a handful of galleons. Gnarlak watched him with piqued interest, his black eyes hadn’t left Newt since he had pulled out the small piece of foe glass. Newt knew why he wanted the Foe Glass; the magical properties it possessed meant that Gnarlak would be able to forever evade his enemies and the authorities. Newt didn’t relish the fact that he was aiding the slime-ball in his illicit activities, in fact it went against every fibre in his body but the Thestral foal needed him and he was not to disappoint. 

“Risky business you’re in, Scamander… buying illegal beasts,” murmured Gnarlak. Newt shifted uneasily in his chair, tapping absently on his suitcase. The suitcase rattled slightly in response and Newt gently stroked the case smiling down at it. Gnarlak cleared his throat and Newt looked back up sheepishly, he had a tendency to get distracted by his suitcase. 

“It’s a necessary risk, I suppose.” 

The door shifted in the background and the woman walked in with a cage. In it was a small deathly looking creature curled up in a ball. It was skinny thing but then all Thestral’s were essentially undead horses. It looked about nervously making small noises and Newt frowned sadly, he was vexed that business had to be taken care of first. The cage slammed on the floor with a bang and a protesting wail from the Thestral foal. Newt shot a look at the Goblin who had slammed it down.

“Be careful, there’s a living creature in there you know,” he snapped.

Newt knew most people couldn’t see a Thestral. They were more common in England than people believed but many couldn’t see them because they hadn’t experienced near death experiences. Newt twitched at the thought, at his own experiences and how he could see Thestral’s. The Goblin he’d snapped at skulked back behind the bar and continued rubbing glasses with a dirty cloth. He reminded himself not to buy a drink. 

“The Foe Glass for the Thestral, then?” Newt asked leaning forward, his curly brown hair falling into his eyes slightly. Gnarlak nodded, still chewing on his cigar.

“That was the deal.”

Newt nodded to himself. He placed the Foe Glass gently on the wooden table, Gnarlak’s hand snaked out from his side of the table grabbing the Foe Glass. Newt looked away as Gnarlak tucked the Foe Glass into his pocket. The honey-brown haired wizard turned his attention to the cage and the Thestral. It was crying in the cage and it took Newt all his patience not to storm out of the pub yelling obscenities about the cruel nature of Gnarlak and his associates. Instead Newt knelt down on the floor under Gnarlak’s watchful eye, pulling out his wand in the process. His wand was well worn, the belemnite handle had small grooves from where Newt’s slender fingers had worn it down and there were small chips in the cedar wood of the actual wand. Newt knew his wand was peculiar to most, many found cedar based wands hard work because they demanded a great deal of loyalty but Newt had fallen in love with his wand when he had found it in an old, dusty box in Olivander’s when he was 11. The wand and its phoenix feather core had been inseparable from his ever since. Newt aimed his wand at the lock on the cage.

“ _Colloportus,_ ” chanted the wizard. The cage door clicked open and Newt opened it carefully. The Thestral pushed itself back against the cage bars in distress, it made Newt’s heart wrench that the Thestral had probably been subject to a great deal of abuse. His thin, callused hand came forward gently to touch the bottom of the Thestral’s snout. It relaxed instantly, almost as if it recognised Newt’s caring hand. His mother had always said he had a gift for looking after animals. Newt scooped the small foal up in his arms, it writhed slightly but Newt held it in one hand momentarily. He pointed his wand back at his suitcase which Gnarlak was eying up with greedy Goblin eyes.

“ _Wingardium Leviosa.”_

The suitcase levitated gently off of the floor and stuck close to Newt’s side. He pocketed his wandand used his second arm to carry the Thestral foal out of the pub. It wasn't wise to enter his suitcase here, he wouldn’t put it past Gnarlak to do off with the case while Newt was busy. Newt turned to leave but he heard Gnarlak’s sleazy voice rise about the clatter of the pub. 

“Nice doing business with you, Newt,” he called with a grin.

Newt dipped his head courteously but didn’t reply.

It took Newt less that five minutes to shuffle down the empty, grey washed street to his B&B room. It was a quaint little B&B (for 1930 Dingle wasn’t exactly large, nor a massive tourist trap) with a small bed equipped with a patchwork, homemade blanket, a white wash basin and a dresser. Newt placed the foal down on the bed with great care, it grumbled and tried to stand but its long time spent secluded in the cage had made the Thestral’s legs wobbly and it stumbled back into the pillow. From a Muggle’s perspective the cushion would likely to have looked like the cushion had been squished in by some invisible force, but Newt watched with a bemused smile as the Thestral nibbled on the edge of the pillow.

“Now, now, there’ll be food soon enough,” he said, chastising the Thestral. Newt turned and placed his suitcase on the floor, clicking the buttons open and motioning to the deep dark cavern within. The Thestral stared at Newt and at the suitcase and back again before meeping at Newt in protest.

“Don’t worry, there’s nothing in there that will hurt you.” 

The Thestral still didn't move. Newt sighed and scooped up the Thestral. It nipped him in protest but Newt didn’t flinch, he was used to collateral damage. 

“Mind your head!”

The suitcase allowed Newt to enter and inside it was a world of great promotion. He came out of a small, handmade shed and down a few steps. He set down the Thestral and it wobbled slightly but remained upright. Newt motioned towards a clearing to their left. The Thestral followed cautiously still suspicious of the man who had bought it. Newt smiled at the Thestral, placing his hands in his waistcoat pockets out of habit. He sauntered towards a great, bony looking forest. To anyone else it would look almost haunted, but Newt knew this was a Thestral’s favourite place, somewhere to hide amongst the trees and shrubbery. 

_“Accio bucket,”_ Newt waved his hand, more comfortable to use his hand for magic in his own personal space. He didn’t like attracting unwanted attention and wandless magic seemed to grab people’s attention but here in his suitcase he could be himself and he could feel safe. Sure enough a big, wooden bucket floated out into Newt’s view. As it floated past Newt grabbed the metal handle and plonked it down on the floor, in the bucket were lumps of old meat, it smelled peculiar but Newt knew Thestral’s much preferred older, near rotten meat. As if on cue the Thestral foal appeared at his side sniffing at the air. Newt’s smile widened at the hungry foal looked around for the source of the food smell. He pulled on the pair of gloves that were hung on the handle of the bucket and began to throw out the meat into the trees. The Thestral foal took off into the woods after the meat and Newt nodded happily before bringing his hands to his mouth and making an odd wailing call, the Thestral foal stopped and looked at Newt obviously baffled by the noise. After a few moments a responding noise came from the woods so Newt, encouraged by the response, called again. Out of the clearing came another Thestral, this time much older — a mare. It caught sight of the Thestral foal immediately and crossed past Newt to see to the foal. Newt didn’t intervene, though he had rescued the creatures they were still wild and capable of hitting or biting Newt. Newt emptied the bucket into the trees and left the foal chuntering to the mare Thestral — for now he could be sure of their safety until he could find a safe place to release them. They were not his creatures to keep and he had no intention of domesticating them. 

The slender wizard sat back down on the steps of his small shack, reaching up to the shelf nearest to him. Down he pulled an old picture frame that was kept in good quality in the frame was the image of a woman, beautiful beyond measure with raven black, curly hair. Newt thumbed gently over Leta Lestrange’s face with a wistful sigh.

 

 

_______________________

 

Somewhere in the dark depths of MACUSA sat Gellert Grindelwald. His electric white hair sat perfectly styled even though it had been a great deal of time since he’d had the opportunity to wash it. He sat with a smile on his face as the door opened and two guards appeared.

_“Incarcerous,”_ called a voice from the dark. In response a wand flashed and a set of ropes appeared at Grindelwald’s wrists. They were still terrified of him. This was good, it was what he needed — he operated best on fear. Grindelwald stood when commanded by the heavily clad wizards. He was frog marched out of the cell and down a corridor, he was pushed into a white, clinical room with a black pool with a levitating chair at its centre. He knew what this was. As Percival Graves he had been here many times before. Grindelwald’s smile increased as he caught sight of Seraphina Picquery, the President of MACUSA. She had a stern look on her face and seemed only slightly uncomfortable that Grindelwald was smiling so openly in the face of his own death. 

“Gellert Grindelwald you have been sentenced to death as judgement of your actions against the United States of America and the Magical Congress of the United States of America. You will be enveloped in the Death Potion and will subsequently be executed. Do you have anything to say in your defence?” 

Grindelwald’s peculiarly coloured eyes flickered between the woman in the white coat with her wand at the ready and Seraphina who stood with her hands together. 

“Do you think I am the only one?” cawed Grindelwald his voice sickly smooth and echoing in the clinical room. Seraphina tilted her head in confusion at his words. Grindelwald continued.

“You fail to understand that I am not the only one who wishes to see a world where wizards no longer have to hide in fear of no-maj’s. You are small minded enough to think my goal is just a flight of fancy.”

Seraphina took in a breath. 

“Well it’s a good job there’s no one here to help you,” said Seraphina sarcastically. Grindelwald tilted his head, his smile showing the yellow-y whites of his canines. 

“Is there not?” 

Grindelwald raised his hands as the magical ropes fell away. Seraphina stepped back in surprise to draw her wand. The woman next to her with her wand at the ready was slammed back against the wall as the men next to him threw a blast of magic against her. Seraphina’s wand flew from her hand and landed in the black ooze. It dissolved into the liquid substance, Seraphina let out a gasp but was cut short as Grindelwald’s hand grabbed the neck piece of Seraphina’s cloak, Seraphina stared at Grindelwald in his eyes. He moved her forward so that her back was against the vast openness above the pool. The two men who had been beside him, his original guards who had spoofed their Incarcerous spell, were busying themselves immobilising the woman who had been next to Seraphina. She snarled at Grindelwald. The same snarl she had been giving him every time she had seen him for the past four years in incarceration. 

“You’ll never get out of here alive,” spat Seraphina. Grindelwald sniffed, not fussed with her threat. 

“Like I said, Madam President, I am not the only one who believes in a better world.” 

Seraphina frowned, not understanding the gravity of his threat. She grabbed at his hands but his grip was too stong. 

“Let me go, Grindelwald,” she demanded, slapping at his hands. 

“Poor choice of words, Madam President,” retorted Grindelwald. His hand released roughly from Seraphina’s neck piece and the motion pushed her backwards, she fell with a short scream into the black ooze. 

Grindelwald adjusted his suit, tatty and worn after four years of use. One of the black clad men produced his precious wand from their pocket. A blackthorn wand with a dragon heart core, suited for his aggressive nature. As he liked it. He stroked the handle, feeling reunited once more before turning to the two men waiting for him. 

“Send the signal, its time for MACUSA to fall.”


	2. MACUSA Falls

Porpentina Goldstein slammed down the stamp against the dock of papers she was working on with a harrumph, she had been sitting for the past two hours filling paper work of a recent bust up between gangsters and MACUSA. Of course because she was the ‘youngest’ (though that wasn’t much of a term considering she had been at the Congress for more than five years) staff member she was the one lumped with all the paperwork: two hours of filing in reasons why goblin gangsters had been busted in the first place and what the warehouse they had busted consisted of. Tina pushed her hair out of her eyes, sticking out her lip in the process. Queenie had told her she sometimes stuck out her lip when she sulked and now she had been informed of her facial tick, it was all she could see. She made a concerted effort to bite her lip instead of pouting and rested her chin on her hand watching the room lazily as office clerks went by their business. It seemed that even though Tina had had a hand in saving New York and had had her job title reinstated that things hadn’t changed all too much. She was still lumped with a peculiarly large amount of paperwork and she seldom got out on her own. Perhaps Abernathy had some hand in this unusual punishment, after all, ever since Queenie had more or less dashed his hopes of marrying her. Her younger sister had a way with people, especially men, because she was a Legilimens she was everything Tina was not; beautiful (though she knew it), confident (because she could read minds) and quirky (mostly because she was sifting through memories at the same time). Tina’s slightly frizzy brown hair was pushed irritatedly back as she fidgeted in her seat. She had ten more minutes left. Just ten minutes and then she had the perfect night planned: her home, a cup of Queenie’s special hot chocolate and the leisure to read a certain someone’s recently released Magizoology book. 

The thought of Newt made her heart tug slightly and she fought the urge to smile, she’d heard from Newt through Owl Mail frequently since the New York incident and Credence’s death but she hadn’t seen him. The urge to smile passed and the sides of her mouth dipped once more, Tina looked down at her he’d promised at the dock all those years ago that one day he would come visit her and they would talk about his new book. There hadn’t even been a small mention of her in his book and though they had exchanged small pictures (especially of Newt on his travels) they had never gotten around to the subject of meeting once more. Tina scanned the room absently passing the seconds by, it was business as usual: Abernathy sat at his desk using, flicking through his papers while his self-writing quill did most of his work. Tina pursed her lips in disdain before moving on with her absent-gazing, Abernathy knew self-writing quills had a higher level of spelling errors yet for some reason he flouted the rules because of his new ‘Senior Supervisor’ position. Her brown eyes passed by three other office workers who were in the office so late, though she knew none of them by name because she was determined to spend less time in the office and more time out on the streets and if she had known their names and backstories it was more likely Abernathy would have found something for her to cover. 

It was then, as she was contemplating how long it would take her to make a coffee, that she heard the bang. But it wasn’t just _a_ bang, It was a series of bangs from the floor above her (her office being situated in the dingiest underground level without going into the cells and death room) and they were loud enough for ceiling cement to dance down onto her desk. Tina looked up cautiously at the ceiling debating whether or not someone had dropped a confiscated set of potions or wands that had exploded during transport. Abernathy stood up, pressing down his suit and moving with a certain stiffness that suggested years of doing exactly as he was told, moving towards the door at the end of the office. Tina turned and watched him move but his auburn hair snapped to her as she did so.

“Back to work Goldstein, you still have another —“ he began. He was interrupted by a flashing green light that illuminated the doorframe. Whoever was on the other side of the door was using magic and the hallway was lit green with the effects. Tina swallowed nervously as Abernathy pulled the door open. 

“Now see here…” again Abernathy was interrupted but this time he was enveloped in his own set of green light before his lifeless body crumpled to the floor. Tina gasped, as did the three other people in the office who had gathered just a few desks away from Abernathy, as Abernathy laid lifeless on the floor. There was only one spell which had a green light and resulted in the immediate death of the victim. Tina drew her wand, gripping it nervously. Perhaps it was a fake spell and Abernathy was merely stunned. It wouldn’t have been the first time MACUSA had introduced severe and intense testing abruptly on its staff before but Tina’s heart told her this was not to be. The three people at the door, she thought one was called Mulligan or maybe Muller because Abernathy had shouted at them before, got their wands out too. They clutched theirs just as nervously as Tina but unlike her they moved towards Abernathy. As they did so, with nothing between themselves and the door, a shape moved in the light of the hallway. This time multiple flashes went off in front of Tina’s eyes, enough to make her grimace and duck behind her desk. She heard the sound of three objects hitting the floor. Tina ducked down under her desk, grabbing hold of her mouth and nose so that she didn’t make a noise. The room fell silent except for a set of footsteps, Tina tucked her legs as close as she could into herself, trying her best not to move. It wasn’t that Tina was a coward, nor was it that she was purposefully hiding, but she had seen how quick the flashes of light at the door had been and the noise of the three wizards in the room fall to the floor and she had known that if she had stood up too she would have been dead on the floor. That didn’t mean she wouldn’t try and defend herself if she could, she just didn’t see the point in throwing herself at death if it could be helped. The footsteps stopped halfway up the room, Tina could hear the breathing of whoever it was only a few desks away. They were listening for any sign of life in the room, luckily for Tina she was well accustomed to sneaking back to her small apartment after hours at the penance of getting an earful from Mrs. Esposito, her landlady. She kept herself silent and was rewarded with the sound of boots leaving the room. Tina sat for a few more minutes as the sounds of wand magic filtered away from the room. Whoever it was had been clearing each room as they went down the hall. After a moment of ensuring there was no one else in the room, Tina peered over her desk. Her eyes widened at the scene: Abernathy and her three co-workers laid on the floor, their skin grey and their bodies lifeless. She stood slowly, her wand by her side, with sad eyes. Tina had never liked Abernathy, not really — he’d been nothing but a thorn in her side with his constant nagging and condescending tone but he didn’t need to die, not in such a meaningless way. His grey eyes stared at her (no, through her) as she stepped over his lifeless corpse. She had never seen the Avada Kedavra curse used in person before, sure she’d read about it but she never expected to see one of the Unforgivable curses up front.

Tina pushed the door open with the tip of her wand cautiously, she felt her wand resonate in her hand at being used as a makeshift door handle. The hallway was empty, except for the scattered bodies lying motionless in the stone, shiny hallway. The lighting was bad in the basement, Queenie had always said it was because the Congress had to make budget cuts somewhere and given the lack of staff in the Auror department (or rather, the lack of Auror’s who actually liked doing paperwork) they had been first choice. She didn’t dare use her wand as a light, given someone was walking around killing anyone in sight she didn’t think it a good idea to advertise her whereabouts. Stepping around another poor soul, she thought it was perhaps Cromfell the porter a quiet man and usually ignored because he was a Squib, Tina moved towards the stairwell when she noticed someone moving on the landing. A man in black robe and a black hood was looking up the stairs, Tina reckoned it was the same man she had heard in the office because he had the same kind of boots she had heard earlier. The man turned and caught sight of her, his wand raised in action but Tina was quicker.

“Expelliarmus!” She shouted.

In response the strangers wand flew out of his hand but it wouldn’t be enough to subdue her attacker. Her wand raised again and with a flick she called out.

“Stupefy!”

The wizard flew backwards and crashed into the wall with a _crack_ and a _thud_. Even though Tina had needed to use her spells she never liked causing pain if she could help it, she noticed the broken tiles on the stairwell where the wizard had flown into but at least the man was knocked out on the floor.

“Incarcerous,” she muttered. Thick ropes apparated from thin air and the man’s legs and arms were bound tightly. Tina noted she could come back for him later, for now there were other pressing matters. Tina took off up the stairs at a gentle, quiet jog. She had to get to Seraphina Picquery’s office if she had any chance of aiding in whatever attack this was. The only problem was Seraphina’s office was on the second floor, four floors up. Tina continued up the stairs silently, her breath the only sound in the empty hallways. More bodies decorated the first floor, Tina gasped under her breath but didn't stop, she knew they would be lifeless corpses given the state of the basement level. The second floor was somewhat louder, she could hear the sound of distant blasts of magic, the whistling and whizzing noises that emitted from a wand was unmistakable. Tina peeked her head around the corner of the stairs, the hallway was identical to the basement but it had high, stained glass windows with the MACUSA symbol at the top. Some windows had been smashed by rogue magic blasts and the tiles were scorched where someone had used an Incendio spell. At the end of a corridor Tina saw a wizard in brown robes sparring with another man in black. She stepped into the hallway and ran down the corridor with her wand at the ready. The man in black saw her and waved his wand quickly sending raw magic bolts towards her and the man in brown robes, Tina deflected the attack with a flick of her wand and she sent a bolt back at the man. He deflected easily and sent another bolt back. The man in brown was hit in the shoulder with a magic bolt and he staggered back. Tina moved in front of him instinctively, her Auror skills kicking in ready to protect. She waved another bolt and stepped forward with one hand raised behind her and her wand aimed out.

“Brachiabindo!” 

Invisible strings seemed to appear out of nowhere and the man struggled before he fell to the ground. Tina grabbed his wand as it skittered across the floor. She took a shaky, low breath and turned to the man in brown. He clutched his arm in pain with a wince on his angular face. Tina didn’t recognise him but he definitely worked for MACUSA, his robes had the logo on it. 

“Are you alright?” She asked, lowering her wand.

“Yes, yes I think so. It’s only a flesh wound. Do you know what’s going on?” 

Tina shook her head.

“No, I just know they’re killing everyone.”

The man looked visibly shaken. Tina didn’t criticise him for it, even as a seasoned Auror she always had a certain level of fear when she sparred with the unknown. 

“God, help us,” the man mumbled. Tina looked at him sympathetically, but she knew there was no time waste.

“Do you think you’ll be alright making sure this guy is contained?” She asked, motioning to the man struggling on the floor. The man in the brown robes nodded determinedly. 

“I'll be okay, I’ll make sure he doesn’t go anywhere.” 

Tina nodded and turned to their assailant. 

“Who are you and what do you want?” She demanded her face folding into a scowl.

“Why are you killing everyone?” She asked another question in the hopes the man would answer, but it was to no avail because the man in black spat at her. He didn’t reply and continued to struggle against her binding spell. Tina gave an exasperated sigh, she knew he wouldn’t reply but it was worth a shot.

"I'm going to the Madam President’s Office, I’m going to get help. Madam Picquery will know what to do.” 

Tina wasn’t exactly sure Seraphina would know what to do but she decided it was probably the best course of action. The man wished her good luck and Tina went back down the hall and took off up the stairs. The third floor was eerily quiet. Scorch marks littered the wall but there were no bodies on the floor, of any kind. There had been a great fight here, she wondered who had won. With her wand at the ready she moved towards Seraphina’s door. The oak door was closed but she could hear movement inside. More men in black robes? Wizards trying to fend off attacking forces? Tina wasn’t sure but she had a spell ready incase it was the former. She tried the door but it was locked, her heart skipped at the thought that whoever was behind the door had locked it because they were hiding inside. 

“Alohomora.”

The lock clicked and the door swung open. Tina saw people inside, shapes and shadows.

“Hello?”

The room was silent, it was a large room (quite like the muggle President's oval office). The plush chairs had been moved out the way and in front of the large mahogany desk stood a man with bone white hair. Tina frowned and took a nervous gulp. She dismissed the thought that it was Grindlewald, as far as she was aware he was locked up securely downstairs. 

“I don’t know who you are but surrender your weapon!” She said sternly. 

The man turned at her voice with a straight, dark face. His spiky white hair looked like it had been shocked, it was so pointy and his odd eyes bored into her own. Grindlewald stood in front of Tina with his wand down by his side. He looked over Tina with emotionless eyes.

“You.”

He remembered her from the train station. Tina raised her wand.

A flash of magic blinded her eyes, she heard the bolt coming towards her. 


	3. The Letter

High up above the clouds and smog of London soared a brown owl. It was a tatty looking thing with worn feathers and yellow orbed eyes. It danced on the wind with a natural grace before dropping abruptly from the sky. Down below the clouds it soared and into the dense fog that sat nestled over London like a blanket. Even through wizarding intervention the smog that settled over London was unnatural and not at all overly nice. The owl grazed over a few men wandering down the street, its long talons just missing the tops of their bowler hats. A few of them yelled profanities at the owl but none of them made a move to get rid of it. After all how could they? Though the bird was flying low it glided with an expert rhythm and was far more athletic than they were. 

Eventually the bird stopped against the top of a gas lamppost. The metal would prove warm against the owls feet but not warm enough to make it move, it would sit a small amount of time pruning its wings before it seemed to realise that it was there with a job to do. The owl finished running its long beak against its wings before fluttering down onto the street floor. In front of the owl, and just made out by the smog, was a dirty old briefcase; its edges worn and faded with years of use. The owl tottered over to the briefcase before stopping in front of it. The owl blinked once, its yellow orbs glittering in the gas light, before leaning over and pecking hard on the side of the case. Nothing happened for a moment and all was still before the owl tapped again. For the longest of moments nothing happened and the owls face tilted in short bursts as it wondered what to do with its delivery. 

And then the briefcase opened slowly. At first it was so minute that a muggle wouldn’t have noticed; pulses in the air that would have made a wizard wonder whether the briefcase held a set of ladders that someone was thud, thud, thudding up. And then the locks on the briefcase would slide with a click. The owl blinked slowly and leaned in, its beak nibbling the side of the box. The top of the briefcase opened slowly and a pair of blue eyes peaked out the lid. When the eyes made contact with the owls yellow orbs the suitcase opened further still and an impossibly tall man made his way out of the suitcase. His blue trench coat sat over the edge of the suitcase and disappeared into its dark depths; to the untrained eye the man had just climbed out of his suitcase, but of course any wizard knew that there were possible solutions for impossible sizes. It was the new ‘in thing’ to have an impossibly small home with an unreasonably large interior. 

The man hunkered down on to his haunches and smiled at the owl, looking up into the eyes of his customer. 

“Hello,” said the man, his index finger held out to the owl. The owl leaned in and nipped at the man’s finger before hooting triumphantly. The messenger had found its recipient. “May I?” 

The bird dipped its head and held out its foot, a small note dangling off of the ankle. The man carefully unlaced the ribbon from around the owls foot allowing it free. The owl stretched its wings and hooted graciously, such a letter didn’t weigh much but for a bird with training the weight of responsibility was just as heavy. The man ducked his hand into his pocket and found a wriggling worm, he handed it to the owl who eagerly awaited like a bellhop waiting for his tip. After gobbling the worm the bird stepped back and flapped its wings. It hooted once and departed into the night sky. The brown, shaggy haired watched as it flew away into the night before turning and proceeding back down into his briefcase. It slammed shut behind him. 

Inside the trunk was a world of amazement. What started out as a menial looking garden shed opened up into a backdrop world divided by region, though none ever looked entirely finished; a sandy, stormy desert that oddly mimicked the plains of Arizona, a wet yet tropical rainforest and most peculiar of all a snowy clearing where snow fell and the air was crisp to the touch — it didn’t seem to matter how warm the first two climates were even though they were next to each other the snow never thawed. The man sat down at the chair next to the shed with a thoughtful look on his face. The owl had delivered a letter but not from anyone he recognised, in fact the words were written on a typewriter in that familiar yet cold script:

 

“NEWTON SCAMANDER,

LONDON"

 

There was no actual address on the letter addressed to Newt, rather the catch-all of London. The wizard wasn’t sure anyone would ever be able to work out how owls knew where their deliveries were after all, wizards moved around a lot and a great deal of time was spent on the move. Yet the owls were the most reliable form of delivery and the safest. It was seldom owls were willingly intercepted. Newt ran his fingers over the small letter, he frowned at the writing on the front before turning it over. On the back was a wax print that sealed the letter together, in the wax was the symbol for the Magical Congress of the United States of America. Newt chewed on his bottom lip as he pondered its contents, slowly opening up the letter being careful not to rip it apart. He read the letter carefully before sitting back with a blank expression on his face. Newt looked at the letter once more before dropping it on the floor and running towards the ladders. He ignored Pickett the Bowtruckle waiting patiently by the ladders as he rushed out in a panic. 

Pickett watched as Newt hurried out of the briefcase, the small green creature frowned (if, indeed, it _could_ frown) before turning to watch the piece of paper floating to the floor lazily. The Bowtruckle scuttled over to the paper, ignoring his friends staring at him from their tree. On the paper said:

 

“MACUSA HAS FALLEN. GRINDELWALD ESCAPED. TINA GONE. COME EVEN IF INCONVENIENT.

— QG”


	4. Priori Incantato

The bustling sounds of New York was of bittersweet familiarity to Newt, he had arrived in a less than pleasant way. There was no time for Newt to arrange passage on one of the Muggle boats from London, not if the news he had received had been true, so he had created a very illegal and very unreliable portkey from one of his socks. The only problem with making an impromptu portkey was the destruction of Newt’s good sock — it wasn’t that the travel across the continent destroyed the sock but it didn’t do the yarn any good. The travel had made Newt’s stomach feel even more unreasonable; portkeys were known for being uncomfortable for the user, but added to the feeling of apprehension Newt already felt it was safe to say he felt well and truly awful. That didn’t hinder Newt’s travels though, he stalked hurriedly across the streets of New York barely stopping to notice the increase in traffic or the amount of people on the streets.

Newt turned a corner on Vessey Street and Broadway, his eyes set on the Woolworth Building. From the outside nothing was out of the normal — cars still tootled down the street past City Hall and people were still stopping to look into shop windows. But on closer inspection any witch or wizard would see that the Woolworth building had extra security outside; men in fedoras and trench coats were stationed around the building plus a large scaffold against the building conveniently blocked off the street around the entrance and pavement. Any muggle (or no-maj depending on where you came from) would see the building as going under renovation but when one stepped over the threshold of the building the scene was all but pleasant. Newt passed through the double doors of the Woolworth building but was stopped just inside by wizards pointing their wands at him. The rest of the building interior was decorated with scorch marks, smashed glass and throngs of MACUSA agents fluttering around motionless bodies and debris. Newt placed down his briefcase carefully and held up his hands.

“Sorry sir but you can’t be here right now,” said one of the wizards, a man in his late thirties dressed in a fedora and beige trench coat. Newt nodded in understanding and slowly moved his hand.

“I understand, I have a letter in my pocket that I’m going to reach and get,” Newt explained cautiously. The men were obviously on edge because as Newt reached into his pocket they adjusted their grips on their wands and pointed them with a steadfast stance. Newt pulled out the letter he had received from Queenie as well as his identification card, he held them out to the men with his other hand still in the air. They took them cautiously before one of them turned away to look at them in the light.

“It has the seal,” mumbled the man who motioned at his colleague before looking at his identity papers. They readjusted their positions to be slightly less menacing against Newt but they didn’t move out of his way. “We’re sorry, sir, you might have received a letter but that doesn’t mean you can go in.”

Newt was about to argue with them when he heard a familiar voice. “Let him through you nitwits, don’t you know who this is?”

Newt couldn’t help but smile as Queenie, pretty as ever, came dancing down the steps. She had a concerned, tired look on her face and it was clear to Newt she had been crying. The two men were forced out of the way as Queenie barged past them, throwing her arms around Newt. Newt awkwardly reciprocated the hug finding it reassuring that Queenie was a familiar face in the mayhem of the building.

“They got her Newt,” cried Queenie in her soft lilting voice. Newt stiffened at her words before letting her go and looking into her mottled blue eyes.

“What do you mean ‘they got her’ Queenie? Where’s Tina?” He asked, his voice draped in anxiety.

Queenie rubbed her temples, it was obvious her legilimency had worked overtime listening to the minds of those around her all day. She looked at Newt again, her arms wrapping around her slender frame in comfort, Queenie looked ready to cry but there was a sternness in her eyes that told Newt she was done with crying and helplessness.

“Grindelwald, Newt, his followers… they attacked the Congress and freed him,” Queenie’s lips quivered slightly before straightening out again, “they killed the Madam President. I think Teenie went to get help or … or maybe she tried to stop him but one second I could hear her and then the next she just… disappeared.”

Newt rubbed his hand over his mouth in disbelief. As far as he was aware the Congress had been one of the most safest places on the planet to house a criminal as devious as Grindelwald, but it was obvious now (even obvious to a fool) that there had been inside support for Grindelwald and his machinations. And poor, dear Tina had been caught in the crossfire.

“What do we do Newt?” Interrupted Queenie, her voice soft but shrill enough to be panicked. Newt tried his best to throw on a nonchalant smile but he felt it fail miserably as his own lips quivered.

“We find Tina,” he said simply. Queenie seemed to agree with his idea and stood to the side to let him past the guards stationed at the door. Newt walked slowly into the centre of the room, looking at the battleground before him. He was right in his assumption that the marks in the walls were scorch marks; not only were the once-fine tiled walls scorched they were also gouged out where spells thrown at velocity had missed their mark. Other spells had hit their mark, however, Newt watched as they carried out witches and wizards in MACUSA robes, parts of their bodies blackened and cracked where raw bolts of magic had hit them. Newt moved around the scene to the stairway. He climbed up them slowly, feeling as if the best place to start would be Tina’s office. From their correspondence and Queenie’s apt directions, Newt knew Tina had been relegated to the basement, it didn’t seem entirely fair that the woman had been backhandedly punished for her participation in the events of 1926, she had been reinstated as an Auror but was lumbered with more paperwork than anyone he knew. Queenie led him down a set of stairs off from the main stairwell onto a smaller corridor. The area was still the same; scorch and gouge marks in the wall and the faint smell of drying blood.  
A man stood in the hallway with a black robed body lying in front of him. The man’s robes had burned away at his shoulder and his skin was left smouldered and oozing blood, Newt winced at the wound but felt he was morally bound to make sure he was okay. Queenie moved in front of him, taking the lead as she always did in social situations.

“Are you all right honey?” She asked with genuine care in her voice. The one thing Newt liked about Queenie was that she had a genuine compassion for human beings, regardless of status. Queenie tilted her head back towards Newt clearly hearing what he had been thinking. Newt went to say something but was interrupted by the man speaking.

“Yes… yes, it’s just a flesh wound. But I… I killed him,” he stumbled over his words in clearly agony over his actions, “she bound him but I killed him anyway because he killed my friends…”

Newt heard the ‘she’ and hunkered down next to the man. As much as he felt for the man, he didn’t really have the patience to wait for him to get over his moral dilemma.

“Who is she?”

“The woman from downstairs… she came up the stairs and helped me fight him off. I recognised her from the Auror department, Porpentua I think.”

Queenie leaned forward at the name.

“Porpentina?!”

The man nodded recognising the name. “Yes, I think so. She said she was going to Madam President’s office.”

Queenie continued to pander over the man but he waved her off, instead happy with being shellshocked on the floor. Newt reasoned that there would soon be MACUSA agents sweeping this area so they could see to the man. Still squatted on the floor Newt turned his attention to the dead man, it was impossible to tell what killed him but Newt assumed it hadn’t been legal. He pushed the black hood away from the man’s face but it told him nothing, Queenie gasped.

“I recognise him, he worked in the Magical Permits Office!” She exclaimed, “He’s been here for at least five years!”

Newt nodded. “I don’t think our friend here was planning on staying for much longer.”

If he had been here for the five years Queenie had stated then it would make sense that Grindelwald had had plans for a long time in case of his incarceration. After all, he had impersonated Percival Graves for at least a year. In that time Grindelwald had been responsible for approving of the new hired staff at the Congress as Head of Magical Security so it didn’t surprise Newt that he had had a contingency plan. He wondered how many others had been hiding in plain sight. Newt pushed up the man’s sleeve, on his wrist was a tattoo. Newt didn’t want to touch the tattoo at first, but then he ran his thumb over the dead man’s tattoo. It was a small thing really. At the base of his wrist sat a triangle with a circle in the middle and a line running from tip to base; The Deathly Hallow’s. Grindelwald had never been quiet about his belief in pure-blooded supremacy but Newt had never thought he would be mad enough to want to be the Master of Death. Newt let go of the robed man’s wrist and sat back slightly. Queenie too had seen the tattoo but didn’t react in the same way. Grindelwald was greatly feared in America too but not to the extent where the general public knew of his mark. Newt looked levelly at Queenie.

“These are Grindelwald’s followers, they’ve been at the Congress for quite some time waiting for Grindelwald to execute his plan.” Newt pondered why he had waited for so long, until Queenie chirped in.

“They were gonna execute him today,” she muttered quietly. Newt looked at Queenie in understanding.

“So he waited until his execution in the room of death to make a statement,” Newt presupposed, Newt stood up, “come on we need to get to the President’s office.”

Newt and Queenie left the man sitting in the corridor. They could hear the sounds of voices coming towards them and it wouldn’t be too long until the Congress had secured the lower levels. Newt knew that the first place they would have secured would have been the entry and exit ways and then the higher levels would be left until last since there was no way to apparate within the Congress rooms. Anyone hiding up there would be flushed out eventually. Luckily Newt had Queenie with him and she was quite good and pointing out when there were people around corners, as they went up the stairs they bumped into a few shellshocked MACUSA staff who were either sat in the corners of the hallways or just wandering about picking up dropped paperwork. They looked like victims more than fighters and Newt’s heart panged with sympathy but then his mind turned towards Tina and his heart thumped with worry. She wouldn’t have gone down without a fight but a wizard of Grindelwald’s prowess would have made short work of the woman. He had seen as much in 1926 when he had caught the crossfire of Tina and Graves’s fight outside the train station.

It didn’t take them too much time to get to the Madam President’s office. The door was hanging off of its frame with puncture marks going through the thick oak. Newt pulled out his wand nervously, Queenie had not picked up anything but that didn’t mean there wasn’t someone hiding in the office. Skilled wizards were capable of cloaking themselves from legilimens. The door opened up further and Newt went into the office followed closely behind by a wand wielding Queenie. The scene before them had signs of a quick fight; the door had been blown back as if someone had been standing in front of it before the attacker had shot a furious bolt, they had obviously dodged and rolled out the way, the two white guest settee’s had been pushed out the way in the ensuing scuffle and the coffee table between the two had been broken with an explosive bolt. Someone had dodged the bolt at the door, fallen behind the settees and the person who had been attacking had pushed them out the way in order to get to the person hiding. Newt wondered if it was Tina. Queenie picked up on his thoughts and let out a shuddery sigh. Whoever had been fighting had been caught up against the wall because the picture frame was broken in its entirety, as if someone had been smashed against it with force. There on the floor was a wand, it was snapped at the handle but otherwise still looked in working order. Newt picked it up and ran it over his fingers, Queenie let out a slight sob.

“That’s Teenies!” She cried becoming overwhelmed with grief. Queenie paced back and forth, her eyes glancing occasionally over to Tina’s wand. Newt’s response was fairly straight laced — his lips came together in a thin grimace and he steeled his eyes. Now was not the time to become overwhelmed. He placed the wand on the President’s desk before stepping back from it. Pointing his wand he let out a simple incantation.

“ _Priori Incantato_.”

The wand in front of him burst to life as it echoed out its last spell. Spells of green spurted forth from the wand bringing forth a green hued silhouette of a person before it erupted into white light and dispersed into the air. Queenie and Newt watched incredulously as the wand breathed its last before falling silent once more. The silence deafened the room, neither knew what to say to one another until Queenie broke the silence. It was obvious the last spell from Tina’s wand had been the _Avada Kedavra_ curse but it was highly doubtful she had been the one to use it, they both knew that Tina would never have fallen low enough to use the Unforgivable Curses. Someone had used her wand for her and left it purposefully, perhaps to make it seem like Tina had been involved in the conspiracy to kill the President. MACUSA would not waste time trying to rescue her, rather they would see her as a culprit. But both Newt and Queenie knew in their silence that Tina was as much a victim as anyone else, even if they weren't aware of her fate. Newt knew deep down that they would be on their own trying to find Grindelwald and rescue Tina at the same time. Neither wanted to think about whether or not Tina had been the victim of her own wand's  _Avada Kedavra_ curse. The silence vibrated around the room as the last of the resonance from the wand died down. Newt and Queenie looked at each other, each as sad as the other.

“Thank you for coming Newt,” she mumbled jadedly. Newt turned properly towards her surprised at her choice of words. He blinked confused.

“Of course I would come,” he replied befuddled. Even in his sub-conscious Newt knew Tina would hold a special place in his heart; he had been confused at his feelings in 1926 to the point where he had fled New York, leaving Tina on the docks — they were feelings he had not felt since Leta Lestrange and he knew how terrible that had worked out. But that didn’t mean those feelings hadn’t continued to cement themselves in his heart over the years of correspondence. She was the one who he had run away from because he wasn’t worthy of her care or love. In his moment of pondering Newt became aware Queenie was crying silently, a tear had run down her cheek and the other eye had tears which threatened to spill out too. Before Newt could say anything Queenie threw herself into a hug again; Newt this time was squished by Queenie’s surprisingly strong arms as they wrapped around his own.

“I always knew you never forgot about her,” she whispered through her tears and a bittersweet smile on her face. Newt let out a long sigh, time and time again she peeked into his thoughts. Time and time again he allowed her even though he had asked her repeatedly to stop. But it wasn’t too bad of a thought to have given up. Queenie looked up a Newt with wide, fawn like eyes. “What do we do, Newt? Grindelwald has her.”

“We find her,” he responded determinedly. Queenie wiped away her grief, steeling herself up for the dangerous adventure ready to ensue.

“How do we do that?” She asked, “we don’t even know where they went.”

Newt contemplated this in his mind. It was true that they didn’t know exactly where Grindelwald was but he knew someone who thought very like the wizard. If he had any hope of finding Tina or Grindelwald he would have to find the person that thought very much like him.

Albus Dumbledore.


	5. The Portkey to Hogsmeade

Finding Albus Dumbledore was an easy task; being one of the most prominent and promising wizards of his time meant that there was always a _Daily Prophet_ trail depicting his newest exploits and adventures. Newt had asked Queenie if there had been a floo network or portkey lying around that they would be able to use to get back to England. She had explained that with the Congress damaged as it was it would be a hard pressed job to get the Ministry of Magic to open the floo network for their personal passage. 

Queenie had taken Newt out from the oppressing atmosphere that was the Congress; they had walked in silence together both lost in their thoughts about Tina and the future of MACUSA. They found themselves sat together in a small but modest café that tried its best to mimic the Parisian feel — though Newt thought absentmindedly that nothing would be better than a fresh croissant from one of Paris’s many arrondissements. As Queenie delicately sipped on her frothy hot chocolate the pair devised a plan, Newt had barely touched the tea he had been bought by Queenie he was much too focused on their new mission. 

‘So we go to Hogwarts — that’s where Dumbledore will be and I’m sure he will be able to help us,’ explained Newt matter of factly. Queenie frowned at him skeptically, she didn’t seem to share his faith in the older wizard but deep down Newt knew if they could just get to Dumbledore everything would be much clearer. 

‘Are you sure, Newt? Maybe we should go to the Ministry…’ she mumbled unsure of how to propose a different tactic to the wizard sat pouring over an imported _Daily Prophet_. Newt shook his head vehemently, looking over the top of his paper.

‘No … By now they’ll be piecing together who was in the Congress and who wasn’t. When they realise that Tina didn’t make it to the security checks established after the attack they’ll suspect her involvement, even if we took her wand.’ 

He watched as Queenie touched her pink, woollen raincoat delicately feeling the hard wood that was Tina’s wand. When Newt had gone to keep it safe in his own tweed coat Queenie had insisted on looking after it herself. He didn’t need to be a legilimens to know that it was the only thing she felt like she could do right. Newt sipped at his tea, suddenly remembering its existence before grimacing at it's newly found coldness. They had been discussing tactics for far too long.

‘But Hogwarts is on the other side of the water… do we just apparate?’ Asked Queenie. Newt shook his head.

‘No, we couldn’t apparate, it’s too far away and besides Hogwarts has spells and charms in place to prevent outside apparition onto its grounds,’ explained Newt, ‘I don’t think they’d allow us to use the floo network at the Congress so we’ll have to go by the way I got here but we’ll have to go somewhere quiet. I’m sure there will be too much focus on the Congress for them to notice one portkey activating…’

And so as the sun set Newt and Queenie found themselves in the luscious Central Park. They had walked far enough into the green trees for the odd passerby to not pay any attention to them. Still Newt walked in a small circle around himself and Queenie muttering various incantations.

‘ _Cave inimicum.’_

_‘Repello Muggletum.’_

Queenie watched fascinated as Newt repeated the charms under his breath around in a full circle, small auras would vibrate out of the tip of his wand as he flicked it skywards. After five minutes he would stop and sit down on a tree stump running his slender hands over his eyes tiredly. He still had much work to do. Queenie raised an eyebrow at the invisible barrier between themselves and the people walking around the park. Here they were assured to not be disturbed by any blundering oaf or inspector that had followed them from the Congress. After all Newt had turned up straight after the attack and left not long thereafter, his presence was likely to have caused suspicion. It would not do to be accosted while Newt made a portkey. 

‘Perhaps I should go back to our apartment and get a change of clothes…’ mumbled Queenie as she watched Newt fish out a spare shoe from his suitcase. It was a mud covered shoe that Newt often used when feeding the various charges under his care and one that would not be missed if left in Central Park. He placed it gently on the floor in between the two of them before looking up at Queenie who was wringing her hands through together. 

‘You know we have to go as quickly as possible, Tina depends on us.’

This answer seemed to spur on Queenie who’s worried face was replaced by a determined one. She nodded once affirming their decision before Newt pointed his wand at the muddy shoe. 

_‘Portus.’_

The shoe glowed a brilliant blue momentarily lifting in the air. It wiggled slightly as if accepting its new duty before floating back to the floor and going still. Newt held his hand out to Queenie who took it nervously.

‘I’ve never travelled by portkey before,’ she explained staring at the shoe. Newt smiled reassuringly.

‘It’s no worse than apparating, on the count of three grab the shoe and hold onto it tight, okay?’ 

Queenie nodded, ‘right.’

They paused for a moment and shared a reaffirming look before Newt began to count.

‘1…2…3!’

They both grabbed the shoe and held onto it tightly. From an outside view nothing had happened where they had been stood for the Muggles would see the trees waving lazily in the late evening wind. Inside the charmed area however Newt and Queenie would go flying up into the air like a spinning top. Queenie would squeal at the velocity at which they travelled but would do a great job of holding on. Newt was displeasured by the churning feeling he would feel from his navel as if some invisible force was guiding him towards his destination, Queenie’s face would spin in and out of his focus as she gripped the shoe and his hand as tight as she dared. Soon lights would come into Newt’s focus as the portkey began to slow, though they still span at a sickening speed. 

‘Let go!’ He shouted over the furore of movement to his companion who was squealing in a mixture of horror and delight. She did as she was told and disappeared from Newt’s view. Having learned the nature and unpleasantness of portkey’s, Newt was well versed in landing comfortably. He would float down to the floor looking around gracefully for Queenie. Newt clocked her tumbling awkwardly through the air and, without thinking, Newt pulled his wand at the ready and pointed it at Queenie.

_‘Arresto Momentum!’_

Queenie halted in mid air and gently floated down to the ground at the behest of Newt who was now standing in a cobbled lane waiting for her to arrive. She landed clutching her skirt tightly and then proceeded to dust herself down as if the fall had caused increments of debris to fall over her. Newt waited politely an amused, thin smile stretched across his lips. Queenie used her hands to sculpt her tidy hair back into its original shape and then smiled awkwardly at Newt before looking around.

‘Where are we?’ She asked, evidently trying to get away from the fact that Newt had had to guide her to the floor using magic. Newt looked around too. It was the dead of night and the streets were only just lit with oil lanterns on each side of the road. From his view point Newt could see that the small stone cottages lined the road into what looked like a village square. A small sense of familiarity fell upon Newt as he recognised Hogsmeade, even in the dead of night. 

‘This is Hogsmeade, the nearest village to Hogwarts.’ 

Newt motioned towards the end of the road and began to saunter. Queenie kept up with him and looked around curiously. Growing up in a big city meant she had rarely seen small dwellings as these or such a rural environment. As they walked lights grew brighter the closer to the main street they got. There a line of shops and pubs with condensed windows lined the cobbled stones, a few drunken people in the distance staggered into various houses and Newt couldn't help but feeling like he had arrived home after a great time away. They passed various shops that held a great deal of warmth for Newt: Zonko’s Joke Shop and Honeydukes, both now draped in darkness because they were closed and its owners asleep. Newt could remember the first time he had entered Honeydukes: it had had sweets galore on every wall, some desperate to be out of the jarred containers, others floating through the air like butterflies. There had been chocolate fountains which chocolate frogs lived in and perched on the edge as well as a huge cotton candy machine that erupted with the most magnificent of sculptures. Newt had been in his third year when he had visited for his first time and it had been winter; snow had lined each window with large icicle jutting from the roof and each tree had had what looked like a million floating candles attached to it. Quite simple it had been magical. 

Queenie said nothing as they walked and Newt pondered whether she had been reliving his memories as well, flashes of happier times danced into his vision as he passed by the Headquarters for the Wizarding Wireless Network and moved further on to the Three Brooms Inn. This was where the concentrated amount of noise was coming from — drunken wizards on their way home teetered out of the door into the street and Newt watched bemused as they disappeared into the night. Queenie stuck close to him, she wasn’t afraid but this was an entirely new environment for her and she was not one for new places, especially when there were so many minds condensed together. He caught her rubbing her temple out of the corner of his blue eyes and wondered when the last time she slept was. 

‘Hogwarts is this way, unless you’d prefer to sleep?’ He queried with a level voice, Newt knew time was of the essence but also knew they would be go to no one if they were exhausted. Having created two portkeys in a day as well as using advanced magic had left Newt worse for wear but he didn’t want to admit it to his companion. His stomach growled for sustenance. Queenie bit her lip and looked into the full bar. She shook her head.

‘Let’s keep going,’ she chirped determinedly. 

They made their way up towards the illuminated castle in the distance, turning right and following the curved path towards the school gates. The path had less and less lights as they walked on so eventually the pair drew their wands and used _lumos_ to guide their way. It took a short amount of time to get to the gates but once they were there it was obvious they had been seen from a distance. A man awaited them on the overgrown road that led up to the castle, Newt wondered if they had passed through an invisible intruders alarm that allowed the gate keeper to watch for them coming. A scrawny, bedraggled looking man waited for them with a large lantern. He was dressed in a grey oversized duster coat with a big pair of leather black boots, his face showed age and large wrinkles donned each part of his face. His grey crow like eyes looked over Newt as he approached. 

‘What business do ye have here?’ Croaned the man in the duster coat.

‘Merlin’s Beard!’ Exclaimed Newt with forced friendliness, ‘Dortherie Mulch! Why it’s been years!’

Mulch squinted his crow eyes at Newt for the longest of times, scrutinising the man in front of him before realisation dawned on his face. He didn’t seem happy, but at least he wasn’t angrily leering at the pair. Newt recalled the last time Mulch had seen Newt he had been throwing him out of the school with his trunk and books.

‘Newton Scamander,’ mumbled Mulch, his eyes passing from Newt to Queenie, ‘what brings yer here? Don’t ye know the school is on lock down on account of Grindelwald’s escape from MACUSA?’ 

Newt nodded, closing the gap between Mulch and himself. Newt held out his hand to shake Mulch’s wrinkled one but the gate keeper simply stared. Newt lowered his hand and cleared his throat trying to get rid of the awkward feeling.

‘I’m here to see Albus Dumbledore,’ he announced candidly, his expression unreadable. Queenie stood in the dark just behind Newt and peered out every so often at Mulch. Mulch glanced over to her but otherwise didn’t see her as much of a threat and continued to look at Newt. 

‘Now what do ye need ter be seein’ Dumbledore with, hmm?’ He asked, leaning forwards as if waiting for juicy gossip. Newt remained passive.

‘If you’ll escort us up Mulch I’d be much obliged. I don’t fancy having to counter-sign all the hexes on the way up if I’m not with you.’

Mulch stiffened at the request, Newt had been polite enough but as a Squib the man was used to people barking orders at him. He paused before shuffling on the spot and lurching back towards the castle. He had obviously decided arguing and sending them away was not his decision to make, Newt thought. The trio shuffled on through the dark path, the way illuminated by Mulch’s oddly bright lantern and Queenie and Newt’s wands. Newt tried to ignore the feelings of being watched from the trees. The brunette periodically checked on his companion who seemed to be watching the tree line and jumping at every noise. Newt looked at the trees and thought he saw a shape move but he said nothing and continued to move. As they went further up towards the castle the heavy trees on either side of the road gave way to luscious green fields and in the distance a glimmering surface of a lake.They moved in silence until they reached the grand front doors of Hogwarts, Queenie gasped near silently but Newt couldn’t help but smile at her awe. He supposed she had never seen a castle as grand as Hogwarts; Ilvermorny while grand was still only a fraction of the size of Hogwarts. 

Mulch walked them silently to Dumbledore’s office, with Queenie periodically stopping to look at the moving pictures, before leaving them at the door without so much as a goodbye. Newt watched him go before knocking, the last thing he needed was someone eavesdropping. 

‘Enter,’ mumbled a voice in the distance, a deep throaty voice that was very familiar. Newt swung the door open to the modest office, it was no where near as grand as Headmaster Dippet’s office but it had most of Dumbledore’s treasured belongings, as well as Fawkes — Dumbledore’s ever faithful Phoenix. Newt couldn’t help but reminisce about the many times he had spent in detention here and wonder what would have become of him if he hadn’t been expelled. 

Dumbledore looked up at them over half-moon spectacles. He was young, in his mid to late forties and sporting a tidy brown beard. His short hair was an oddity to Newt, for he had always sported a long set of locks. Newt wondered why he had gotten rid of his hair but didn’t question it as a wide set smile appeared on the older mans face. 

‘Newton Scamander!’ Dumbledore rose loftily from his chair and hurried around his giant desk with significant ease. He wasn’t sporting the usual wizarding robes, instead he was wearing a very dapper waistcoat and tailor fitted trousers, his muscles bulged slightly as he leaned in to shake Newt’s hand.

‘Professor Dumbledore, its great to see you!’ Exclaimed Newt, a huge smile on his face. Queenie stayed slightly behind Newt, her curiously huge blue eyes peeking over his shoulder. Newt remembered the third party as Dumbledore’s own blue eyes gazed over to her, he smiled charmingly at her and held out his hand gentlemanly. Queenie leaned around Newt and took Dumbledore's hand graciously, to which Dumbledore bent lowly and kissed her slender fingers with a soft kiss. She blushed massively and a huge smile seemed to fall into place on her lips. Newt awkwardly stepped out of the way and introduced the pair.

‘Queenie this is Albus Dumbledore, Head of Transfiguration at Hogwarts. Professor Dumbledore this is Queenie Goldstein, she works for the Magical Congress and is …’ he paused, (what was she if not Tina’s sister to him? She was hardly a work companion but neither did he feel so closely to her that he would have identified her as a best friend.) ‘… Queenie is a dear friend.’ 

It was neither a truth nor a lie, for Queenie was dear to Tina and after all they had been through together he supposed Queenie was also dear in some way to him. He was certainly fond of her presence even if she invaded his own privacy from time to time. Queenie smiled and curtsied slightly towards Dumbledore, feeling his presence and knowing of his reputation. Dumbledore returned the same charming, roguish smile at her.

‘Pleased to meet you, Ms. Goldstein.’ Dumbledore turned his attention back to Newt his eyes clouding over with ominous forbearance. He knew this was not a good old catch up with a former pupil. ‘What brings you here so late and in such a hurry, Newt?’

Newt pondered how to posture the question to Dumbledore. The wizard had never ever revealed anything to Newt about his early life or teenage years when he had met Grindelwald. All Newt knew were rumours and hearsay, but he knew that Dumbledore had never denied knowing Grindelwald. Newt knew Dumbledore knew more than he had let on. As Newt pondered how to ask for help, Dumbledore sat himself against his desk, one leg tucked behind the other. His blue eyes shone knowingly, as if he seemed to foresee what Newt wanted to ask but he waited patiently. Newt would not be surprised if he had heard news of the attack on MACUSA. Suddenly Queenie stepped forward, a desperate look in her face. Newt flinched at her words and how bluntly she had put them, Dumbledore did nothing but stare at the pretty witch as she spoke as if a great weight had been placed on his chest, seemingly lost for words.

‘Well, sir, we were wondering if you could help us catch Grindelwald.’ 

 


End file.
